Awestruck
by coffeewriter1
Summary: A centurion sees something he has never seen before. Part of the "Encounters with the King" series. Rated T for descriptions of torture.


I didn't originally want the post. I would have rather stayed in Italy or Asia Minor or even Gaul. But...I went where the commander of my legion decreed...and he went where the Emperor decreed.

So here I was, at the back end of nowhere, the desert only a few miles to the east. I had heard nothing good about Judea, land of rebellions and religious fanatics. It was an unsafe land, and I had a wife and daughter I loved. I didn't want them near, but...if one legion couldn't protect them, who could? So I reasoned.

And why was I at this flea-ridden province, held by blood and sweat? The governor, Pilate. It was the holy day of the Jews, their Passover, speaking of some deliverance in their past. We were the Romans, with Jupiter to rule us and Mars to give us victory in battle. So far, we had never lost. And the Jews...they had fallen to our blades. What deliverance? Yet Pilate said they were ferocious in their faith. So I was here.

I did have to give the Jews credit for one thing, however. They could certainly build. The temple to their nameless, imageless god would not be out of place on the Capitoline Hill. I was stationed nearby at the Antonia Fortress, where Pilate held his power as governor.

Maybe he was right, I mused as I saw the pilgrims crowding every street, and as I heard the angry mutters from their lips. Every house was full with hatred, and I feared for my own protection from the narrow alleyways of Jerusalem. I was a centurion, yes, and my men surrounded me. But for every soldier, there were a hundred angry pilgrims. It was clear that though we held power, we held it by a thread. One spark, and the whole city would go up in flames.

So I watched and patrolled. There was no trouble, but I heard one name that could cause one. Yeshua. He was a teacher of note, overturning the old Jewish law. Some called out the old legends of the Messiah...and he was certainly popular. Yet we did not see him in the streets. He seemed to have withdrawn himself and his closest followers.

The more I heard, the more he seemed to be no threat. Yes, the people rallied to him, but his teaching was far from revolutionary. If anything, he denied the people what they wanted, preaching a message of peace, humility and self-denial, not unlike the Stoics of Greece. Several of my soldiers leaned toward the philosophy, and showed interest in meeting this teacher. I might even, if he would show himself.

Then the unthinkable happened. I was awakened at night. The leader of the legion frowned down at me. "What happened?" I asked.

"The one called Yeshua...he has been arrested. The priests took him earlier, and he is standing trial."

"He has done nothing wrong," I said. "Not that I heard." I was already buckling on my armor. There was a strange feeling in the air, and I sensed trouble.

"The priests want his head. Yet they cannot take it without Pilate's permission." I knew the law. It was wise, I thought...we may have been hard as Romans, but we tried to be fair. Religious fanatics were not fair, not that I had ever seen.

"Pilate will overturn the case," I said as I hurried through the hallways, my men falling in behind me. "The priests have no case. None! And has he done anything against Rome, that we should condemn him?"

My conviction simply grew stronger as I came toward the judgment seat, where Pilate already sat. The man standing before him looked like no revolutionary. He stood quietly, waiting to be questioned. Below him, in the courtyard, I felt anger and hatred. There was a mob, ready to explode. The priests stood to one side, wearing the look of conquerors. I had seen that look before on my own men...just before they ravished some territory. Soldiers would be soldiers, but priests ought to know better. Even the Pontifex Maximus in Rome never wore such a look.

Pilate simply looked disgusted. "For what is he charged?" he asked.

"Revolution to Caesar. He claims to be a king."

Ha! Bowed down like that? No king would ever be found in such a position. A madman, maybe, but no king.

"Are you a king?" PIlate asked.

For the first time, the man raised his head, and I caught his brown eyes. I was good at reading emotion, and there was resignation, exhaustion and sorrow there. "You have said it," he said in a voice gravelly with pain and heartache.

So was he? Or wasn't he? I was suddenly unsure. The mob could be his, after all. I motioned to my men, and they fanned out along the walls, ready to respond. I remained by Pilate's seat.

Pilate motioned to the prisoner to follow, and turned to go inside. I followed, just in case. The conversation was baffling, for this teacher remained a teacher even in captivity. And the claims he made!

"All who follow the truth follow me." Wait? No. Of course, the Jews were exclusive and he could have followed their thinking. He probably did. But then...he would claim to be a representative of their god, if that was true.

And, "my kingdom is not of this world." So..he did claim to be a king. But a different kind of king. A king not of power, but of ideas. An idea was harmless, so long as it did not raise a sword.

I agreed with Pilate when he came out. "I find no fault with him," he said.

The crowd disagreed. "Crucify him!" they called. "Crucify!"

For what? Pilate also seemed confused. He shook his head. The crowd was getting restless. My men, well trained, put their hands on their swords. The situation was now dangerous, and Pilate attempted to defuse it.

"Shall I release a prisoner to you? The one called Barabbas? In exchange for this man?" Now Pilate was mocking. No one would claim a murderer and revolutionary already marked for death. But maybe they would...and they did.

I felt a chill go down my spine. Something different was at work here, and I wanted no part of it. Still, like a chorus in a play, I was forced by responsibility to watch.

Pilate protested. "I find no fault in him." I watched Pilate carefully. He had only to give the signal, and the legion would clear the rabble. "I will have him beaten, and then I will release him."

I motioned. I did not like it, but I understood. Maybe the crowd would have enough once they saw Yeshua's bloody back. The soldiers, none too kindly, seized him and took him inside, and there, he was stripped. His body was lean and strong, the body of a man used to long walking and working with his hands, and I hoped he would not feel too much pain.

He knelt on the cold ground and clasped his hands before him, almost as though he was in prayer. The lictor hesitated, and I knew why. I hardened my heart and motioned, and the whip came down, again, again and again. Yeshua never even made a sound, and I wondered if the whip had killed him. The lictor had not been gentle, and red splattered the hard stone.

Yet Yeshua rose slowly and painfully, almost hobbling to the door, where I waited. I took his arm. "Lean on me," I whispered. Looking at the sadness in his eyes, I couldn't not help him. Grateful, he leaned on me.

"Behold, the man!" Pilate said. "Now I will release him."

"Crucify!" the crowd yelled back with one voice. I shivered. No, this was not possible.

"Shall I crucify your king?" Pilate asked. His tone was exasperated, and I knew he had enough of the affair.

"We have no king but Caesar!" they yelled. Caesar. The one we answered to. Gods might send lightning from the sky, but Caesar would take both our heads if this turned ugly. At least the Jews recognized this, even if they were hypocrites to say it now, when they had something they wanted.

"But I find no fault in him," Pilate protested. I knew now he was trying to balance the demands of justice with the will of the crowd. It was a balance impossible to win. I had seen other such matters end in blood. My men shifted, feeling the sudden mood. The crowd was dangerous.

Pilate motioned for water. "Go," he said, sighing. "Crucify him." That meant me. Our eyes met, and I did not see a man of power, but a man, broken at last by the people he was called to rule. I sighed, and motioned to Yeshua. Two of my men grabbed him, to hold him steady, while two more brought out the cross and put it on his back. He groaned, then straightened.

At least one man would die, rather than the crowd. An innocent man. A man who had done nothing but speak. I felt in him the same wide-eyed wonder and grief my daughter, Drusilla, showed.

There was no time for such thoughts. Someone had brought my horse, and I mounted, knowing I had to lead the party. "Move him," I said. And so we moved out of the courtyard, onto the streets.

All along, I felt the perversion in these actions. It was wrong. I knew it was wrong. Even placing the one against the many no longer seemed acceptable. He should be free to teach simple justice and mercy. But I had my own duty. I had my duty. I had to perform it.

That became my mantra, my chant as I picked someone out of the crowd to carry the cross when Yeshua collapsed. It was my plea as we wound toward the Skull, the place of crucifixion. It was a whispered prayer as I stretched him out, his blood coating my hands. I would drive the nails myself.

And I did. I did. If he was really a messenger from above...he would do his duty, as well. What god would ask his messenger for a criminal's death, I did not know, but… If he was...not a cry escaped his lips as the nails split his tendons, anchoring to the rough wood. Most prisoners would be cursing or weeping, but he was utterly silent, the slow fall of his chest the only sign he still lived.

A son of god. I remembered the heroes and demigods of my youth...Hercules and Perseus and Achilles, and even Remus, who was suckled by the wolf. They were heroes, symbols of strength who conquered cities and vanquished enemies. Yeshua was on a cross...a cross no Roman should even see.

Yet...yet what strength did it take to do what he did? To willingly embrace death? To comfort his mother and his faithful disciple, to ask for mercy for his enemies? It was a coward's way. A coward's life, maybe. Maybe...maybe...maybe not. I was confronted with something I had no name for in my heroic, conquering life and thoughts. We Romans, we acted, we did. We did not sacrifice. But, but...

And the heavens seemed to answer his plea. In utter darkness he cried out to his god. In utter darkness the earth shook and strange, alien lightning split the sky. It felt like war, war to the death, though no swords were drawn. I felt as though...as though I was facing the naked Germans once more, or the short, fierce Spaniards, and I reached for my sword before I could stop myself.

A war...a war of mercy against the worst that men could do. A war...my thoughts spun and shook like a whirlpool in the sea., feeling a weight press down on me, a weight I thought I had forgotten. I had seen, I had done...I had not always been just. Was the war against me, too? Yet...yet he had asked for mercy. For mercy even for me.

Even as he cried in surrender and gave up his spirit, I could no longer refrain from speaking.

"Perhaps, perhaps he was the son of God," I whispered finally. And if he was...I had taken part in his murder, the most unjust of all injustices. Now what could I do?

 **A/N: I left the ending openminded because the Bible does, as well. As it is with all of us...what will our ending be? Do we take advantage of such mercy?**

 **Of course we know the Roman Empire was not always just. They had their share of tyranny, murder and rape. But I am inside the head of a man who owes every ounce of loyalty to Caesar. A centurion could not lead a hundred men without such loyalty, and so it colors his perspective. Keep that in mind before you begin to point out atrocities committed by the Caesars, and remember that he himself recognizes what he has done.**

 **Also...we may rag on Pilate, and indeed he committed an unjust act. Yet I want to show that the crowd really had him over a barrel, and that he tried, at least three times, to set Jesus free. We cannot be too hard on the man...because he at least tried to do the right thing. However feeble the attempt was.**

 **The Romans were known for their lives of action and practical, utilitarian outlook, as well as their curiosity about new ideas. This story simply reflects that fact.**

 **One other note: centurions were the best of the Roman soldiers, often with families of their own. They were often kinder, or at least more just, than the run of the mill privates. This is borne out by history and Scripture both. Every centurion we see mentioned in the Bible is portrayed as an honorable man, or at least a man above the "eat or be eaten" mentality of the times. I hoped to show this as well.**


End file.
